Seeing Red
by maxsfreckles
Summary: A Nathan-centric fanfiction set before the storm. Trigger Warning: Self-harm, Depression, Blood.


The way Nathan saw it, no one could understand him or at least no one had tried to, that is until Victoria came around.

He had grown used to dealing with his problems alone, albeit with the help of substances and his trusty blade. It was just the only way he saw fit, he wasn't worth anyone's time, plus he could scarcely fathom the idea of someone actually _wanting_ to waste their time on him. He was a mess. A disaster. A failure. Exactly how his dad saw him. Just a spoiled brat whose problems are "all in his head." Growing up with a parental figure who constantly dismisses your concerns takes a toll on you, you start to really believe your problems aren't important.

He doesn't know why he reacted this way, she was just trying to help. She might be the only person who can fully understand the troubles that tend to come with being wealthy, but he just couldn't fully open up to her since he has never done it before, let alone tell her what happened to Rachel...what _he_ did to Rachel. He had barely even processed the incident when she had asked him.

"Nate, I know something is up with you. Your eyes are just...dead. And don't blame the drugs this time." she implored, practically begging for an answer, but Nathan simply looked away, staring down at his hands grasping and ungrasping the sheets of his bed.

"Nathan, look at me." Victoria exasperated, cupping his cheek delicately; trying to search his eyes for something — anything, she gasped when she caught a glimpse of his black eye.

"And what happened to your eye? It's purple. Did Sean do this?" she added, her face scrunching up in disgust at the mere thought of him.

He stiffened at the mention of his father, but it was none other than Mark who did it. Nathan thought he could make him proud by setting up a "photo-shoot" on his own, using the most beautiful girl in school as a model, and finally get the admiration that he craves so badly, the one that he doesn't get from his father. Admittedly, he was enamored by Rachel's beauty. "In lust" as Mr. Jefferson would call it, but it was much more than that; she inspired him. Nathan felt like he truly knew her, and he never wanted to hurt her.

Once Mark found out about his mistake though, he punched him square in the face, telling him how much of an idiot he was for committing such a "rookie mistake." His intention was never to hurt anyone, he just wanted to make someone beam with pride because of him, and he couldn't even do that right.

He clenched his jaw at the memory, and slowly removed her hand from his face. The boy stood up from the bed swiftly, attempting to calm his nerves by running a hand through his coffee-colored hair, his back facing Victoria.

"Get out. I don't want to talk." Nathan warned as he crossed his arms, looking at her over his shoulder.

"You never want to talk– " the blonde chided.

"Leave me alone!" he spat, now fully facing Victoria, his intense eyes meeting hurt ones.

"I know what you're doing Nathan! You're pushing me away, just let me– " she argued, Nathan grabbing her wrist sternly as she tried to tug at his sleeve.

"It's not pushing you away if I never let you in." he interjected, a coldness in his eyes Victoria denied to see.

He let go of her wrist, trying his best to ignore her expression of hurt, and opened his dorm room's door, gesturing for her to leave.

She held in her tears, grabbed her purse and straightened her posture in order to come out, she had to look presentable; she was Victoria Chase after all.

He stared at her from his door frame as she left, only she could walk away like that — as if nothing had happened.

"Trouble in paradise, huh?" Zachary remarked with a smile, whilst holding his football.

Nathan rolled his eyes and shut the door in his face.

* * *

 _2:07 AM_

"Agh!" the boy grunted, cutting the side of his arm once more, reveling at the sharp sting it brought.

It was a pain he'd grown addicted to, for it made him forget his troubles, even for just that moment.

He stretched his arm, observing the red liquid spew out of his inflicted wound. The boy saw the blood trickle down over his old scars, reminding him what a mess he's become.

It's been weeks since the Rachel incident, and since his fight with Victoria. Slitting his arms became his main form of release — a way to cope with the inner pain that has been building up over time. The guilt he felt for Rachel, and for his emotional unavailability was too much. It was the only he way he could let some part of it out.

He never thought that he would grow addicted to it, it started as an occasional thing, whenever he'd get tired of smoking and alcohol, he'd grab his razor instead.

Then he started craving that little sting more often, eventually, the sudden rush that would spread all over his body was all he could think about in Mr. Jefferson's class. He'd fidget in his seat, checking his watch every minute, anticipating the sound of the bell in order to lock himself in his room and obtain a new scar.

Nathan moaned as he inflicted his other arm, squeezing his eyes shut whilst tilting his head back, paying no mind to the blood stain on his white tank top.

Once his body relaxed, he stood up and made his way to the dorm's bathroom; he always cuts at these hours since everybody is usually asleep, making it easier to be alone in the restroom.

He looked around the dark hallways, while attempting to walk as quietly as possible

 _Empty, good._ Nathan thought as he reached the bathroom.

He turned on the sink gingerly, wincing as the water made contact with his fresh wounds. He washed the blood off of his razor and arms carefully, watching the blood slide on his fair skin and spiral into the drain.

Once he turned off the faucet and wiped himself dry, he turned around & walked towards the exit; only to meet eyes with a shocked, pale expression.

"Wh-wha...?" the boy said, barely able to comprehend what he saw, his once tired hazel eyes now wide in bewilderment. He looked at Nathan's arms in concern, and pity — a look Nathan knew all too well and hated to see.

"What do you want, nerd? Huh? Never seen blood before, brah?" Nathan spat, pushing him out of his way, instinctively trying to cover his scars while passing through him.

He hurriedly went to his room, locking his door and sinking to the floor behind it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Nathan cursed to himself, putting his hands on the back of his neck.

"It had to be Waldo of all people. What if he tells someone? Fuck." he said, standing up quickly and going over to the other boy's room.

He knocked at the door.

 _No answer._

"Warren, answer me. I know you're in there." Nathan said insistently.

Warren opened the door slightly and pulled him in abruptly, closing it behind him.

Nathan looked around his room, not surprised at all by the amount of geek memorabilia in it, but his horror movie collection was something he didn't expect to see.

After skimming through a few of them, he cleared his throat and looked at Warren.

The uncomfortable atmosphere was palpable.

"So, uh, wanna tell me what the fuck I just saw? I had a feeling you were a vampire, but..." Warren said, as an attempt to lighten the mood a bit, earning a faint smile from Nathan, that he quickly held in.

"Listen, Waldo. Don't tell anyone what you saw today, got it?" Nathan said sternly.

Warren chuckled at the boy's nickname, and at his undisguised threat.

"Listen, Nathan. I won't tell anyone what I saw, as long as you tell me what's up with you. No offense, but you look like a zombie." he said, placing his hand on the other boy's shoulder; genuinely concerned about him.

They weren't necessarily the best of friends, but they were acquainted. They share Mrs. Grant's science class and are lab partners. As a result, Warren took notice of his strange behavior; his fidgeting, blood-shot eyes and his reluctance to remove his jacket were just a few of them. But, he never attempted to ask what was going on before, since he let himself believe the image everyone at Blackwell painted of him — just a spoiled rich boy. Eventually, Warren realized there was more than meets the eye, and he made it his mission to figure out just what it was, and help him any way he can. Even by just simply lending a sympathetic ear.

Nathan tensed at the contact, but didn't swat it away. He opened his mouth to argue, but closed it as he thought about the position he was currently in. Warren obviously had the upper hand. He couldn't risk having someone else know about this.

And, frankly, he was just tired.

Maybe it was time.

He let out an exasperated sigh, and sat down on the edge of his bed.

"Fine." he said through gritted teeth after a long pause, running a hand through his brown locks anxiously.

"I'm all ears." Warren said as he sat down next to him.


End file.
